The Thing With The Bug
Setting: At the wedding rehearsal dinner last weekend, the day before I would walk down the aisle in front of 500 people in a remarkably blue dress. With the 500 people looking at me. At myself. At the person that is me, and I am POSSIBLY A LITTLE NERVOUS.
Self: Drink drink! Drinkdrinkdrink. Wine!
Self: I love this rehearsal dinner! Outside, great band, great food, great wine...
Dukay: Wine! So good!
Self: I am even starting to not be so nervous about the walking down the aisle thing.
Dukay: Good, baby.
Self: Yeah, it'll be fi...YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH
Dukay: What? Happened?
Self: BUG! BUG BIT ME! HEAD! FOREHEAD!
Dukay: Hee. Seriously?
Self: OW. YES.
Dukay: Hee. Well, that sucks.
Self: Dude, I...there's a BUMP. There is ALREADY A BUMP.
Dukay: Oh, there is not.
Self: I FEEL A BUMP.
Dukay: You lie so much. There is no bump.
Self: Dukay. There is an ENORMOUS bump. A golf-ball sized bump.
Dukay: There is not!
Self: Indeed there IS. It...it feels like I'm growing a HORN.
Dukay: Could you lie any more?
Self: I DO NOT LIE. FEEL THE BUMP.
Self: I HAVE TO WALK DOWN THE AISLE IN FRONT OF 500 PEOPLE WITH A BUMP.
Dukay: Oh, it'll go away by then.
Self: It will go...what, the bump you swear I don't have?
Dukay: Wait, what?
So I asked my mother.
Mother: Yes, darling child that I love more than breath?
Self: Mother, do I have a bump?
Mother: You have no bump, sweet precious wonderful baby.
Self: Hmmph. Because I feel a bump.
Mother: Ask your father.
Dad: NO BUMP!
Ziz: GOOD CHRIST, SHUT UP ABOUT THE BUMP. THERE IS NO BUMP.
Self: (I still feel a bump.)
So, one would think that, after your FAMILY, who is your BLOOD, and your BOYFRIEND, who sometimes has SEX WITH YOU, would not LIE TO YOUR BUMPY, BUMPY face.
The next morning, I woke up, bump-free. So I forgot about it. Until we got back to town, and I took a look at all the pictures from the weekend. And all I have to say is:
So I walked around like that, all night, talking to extended family and people who haven't seen me in years, and who most likely wandered away, shaking their heads, and thinking, "Poor dear, with that tremendous FOREHEAD TUMOR. Bless her bumpy little heart."
But, you know what? It's not SMART to fuck with me, and to cause me public humiliation. Because I will GET YOU BACK, DUKAY, DON'T YOU EVEN THINK THAT I WILL NOT.
So. Want to see where Dukay ended HIS evening? Want to know that, at some intervals, he would raise his finger but not his HEAD into the air, and announce, "PEOPLE, I HAVE A FORMULA," and then immediately drop his finger back onto the ground, having completely exhausted all remaining energy in his body and prompting everyone in the Embassy Suites hotel room to scream, "You have a formula? Is it the Quadratic Equation? Is it the Pythagorean Theorem? TELL US YOUR MATH!"
Want to see that? Do you want to? OKAY!
Revenge is sweet, my darling little mathematician. Kisses! And, watch out for bugs!